


i said i like your shirt

by enbyofdionysus



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Grocery Shopping, M/M, Ronan's bad at flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyofdionysus/pseuds/enbyofdionysus
Summary: Ronan trying to flirt with the Hot Henrietta Boy at the grocery store by complimenting him on his band t-shirt and Adam not knowing who the band is because he bought it on clearance and liked the logo.





	i said i like your shirt

Ronan’s staring at a bag of rice like it’s insulted his mom when the guy appears.

He doesn’t look up right away, trying to remember the name of the brand Gansey said he wanted before deciding he doesn’t care, but when he does he almost launches the bag of rice back onto the shelf.

Ronan doesn’t usually lose his cool around guys, but to be fair the boys at Aglionby are too pristine to be sexy.

The closest he’s come to feeling flustered is the deep, coiling fire in the pit of his stomach when he sees a white Mitsubishi in his rearview mirror.

This is different. This isn’t adrenaline knocking on his door demanding him to bust a nut over a pair of sunglasses.

The guy standing next to Ronan is like every wet dream that’s ever made him take a blessing instead of communion at Church.

His face is fair, almost delicate. All high cheekbones and intense blue eyes. But despite his doe-like face, he’s definitely a buck and not a doe. His arms could rival Gansey’s, all strong forearms and biceps in a threadbare t-shirt.

Ronan’s admiring them out of the corner of his eye when he recognizes the logo on the shirt.

It’s for an Irish folk band, one of the older ones in the ‘80s his dad used to listen to. It makes Ronan instantly want to put his headphones on and walk away, to think about the doe-buck-boy in the comfort of his own hellish head where the sound of pipes can tune out the images of his dad’s body smeared across the driveway.

But Ronan doesn’t do that. Instead, because he hates himself, he says, “I like your shirt.”

A beat of silence passes. Another one. Shame grabs Ronan by the nuts, but before he can turn tale and leave, the hot guy looks up at him like it’s just registered that Ronan exists.

“Sorry, were you talking to me?” Hot Guy asks.

The Henrietta accent is prominent in his vowels and Ronan hates how much it makes him even hotter. It’s an accent that tells Ronan he’s local, that he may have even grown up in farm country like he did. It’s a good image, this boy rolling around in the Virginia dirt, raising chickens.

“I said I like your shirt,” Ronan says again. He tries his best not to sound angry when he says it.

The guy looks down at his shirt like he’s forgotten what he’s wearing. “Oh,” he says like he doesn’t quite believe Ronan is serious. “Thanks.”

“My dad used to listen to them all the time,” Ronan says because he can’t shut the fuck up. Because the doe-buck-boy’s eyelashes are entirely doe. “I like the violins.”

Hot Guy looks startled by this information and Ronan watches his blue eyes dart over him like he needs to make sure Ronan’s real.

Ronan doesn’t blame him. A lot of the time someone will say 'I like your shirt’ without a whole lot of meaning behind it.

To prove himself a little more, Ronan says, “They recently came out with a new album, which is fucking crazy. The lead singer’s fucking old as shit. He could probably pass off as beef jerky.”

This makes Hot Guy laugh, an airy sound that seems to surprise even him. Ronan feels like he’s parted the Red Sea.

But then the laughter dies and it’s replaced by a look that’s a little awkward. Ronan can feel the rejection coming.

“Actually,” says Hot Guy, “I don’t know the band.” And then, maybe because he’s dubbed Ronan worthy, he adds, “It was on clearance for $4 and I liked it.”

Ronan’s quiet for a moment while he internally goes back in time to stab himself for oversharing.

But while he’s in the middle of this violent, imaginary suicide, he sees Hot Guy’s pretty eyelashes again as he takes in Ronan’s expensive jeans and misinterprets his silence for judgment.

“Well,” Ronan says, trying to keep the bridge between them going before it can fall, “You have good taste.”

Hot Guy smiles. It’s very small, but it’s there. “I’m Adam,” he says.

Ronan’s already repeating the name in the back of his head. “Ronan,” he replies.

Adam picks up a box of rice labeled $.89 with a shoppers club card. He gives Ronan another smile, this one loose and cheery. “I’ll see you around, Ronan.”

Ronan’s stomach flips.


End file.
